Lyra's POV
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"I, Lucian of Crescent Fang," he said, his voice void of emotion, "reject Lyra of the Eastern Hollow as my mate."
My world didn't shatter.
It simply… stopped.
"I do not claim her."
"I do not accept her as Luna."
"I sever the bond."
Those words didn't echo — they embedded. Sharp. Final. Eternal.
And they were real.
Not some dream or half-formed nightmare.
He had said them just last night…
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The Blood Moon had hung low above us, bloated and red — like a wound in the sky.
Its cruel light spilled over the stone circle where I stood barefoot, each step across sacred ground cutting deeper into skin already raw. The sharp scent of pine and burning herbs stung my nostrils, but not enough to mask the stink of judgment.
I waited for him to look at me.
He didn't.
But my heart — traitor that it is — still dared to hope.
Maybe he's pretending.
Maybe this is all a plan.
Maybe he loves me.
Maybe... Maybe…
They were all watching.
The Crescent Fang Pack.
My pack. My people. My home — once.
Now, they stared like I was a ghost.
Whispers slithered through the crowd, colder than the wind.
"She still thinks he'll change his mind."
"He's already marked Arienne, didn't you hear?"
"Poor girl..."
A quiet laugh.
A pitying sigh.
A life unraveling.
I clenched my fists at my sides and kept my gaze on him.
Lucian.
Alpha of Crescent Fang.
Leader of the Northern Stronghold.
My fated mate.
The man who once kissed me under starlight and called me his moon.
The man who used to trace my wrist with a fingertip and whisper:
"This thread between us? It's unbreakable."
Now, he stood at the far edge of the circle.
Distant. Cold.
His ceremonial cloak shimmered under the moonlight — silver embroidery glinting like frost over steel.
Then the elder's voice sliced the air:
"Tonight, under the watchful gaze of the Blood Moon, the bond of the Fated shall be declared — honored or… severed."
That word — severed — struck like an omen.
My wolf whimpered inside me.
Confused. Afraid.
Fated mates don't sever.
They fight. They protect. They belong.
We belonged.
---
Lucian finally looked at me.
And for one breathless second, my heart stuttered.
Those eyes — storm-gray and once so soft when they looked at me — were now as hard as granite.
"Lyra of the Eastern Hollow," he said, voice cold and clear, "step forward."
My feet moved without asking permission.
Each step screamed.
Then came the blow:
"I reject Lyra as my mate."
I flinched.
We were a breath apart. I opened my mouth — to plead? To question? To remind him of who we were?
And then I felt her.
Arienne.
Daughter of Alpha Theron.
Tall. Blonde. Dangerous.
Wrapped in blood-red silk and an unapologetic smile.
She stood just behind him — one hand resting on his shoulder like it belonged there.
No.
No, this isn't real.
---
Lucian turned away from her — slowly — and looked back at me.
There was no hesitation.
No remorse.
Just... duty.
---
Then came the silence.
The kind that cracks before it collapses.
The wind stilled.
The crowd vanished from my mind.
Even the moon seemed to freeze.
And then—
It snapped.
The bond.
That golden thread I'd felt since the day our eyes first met — the warmth, the pull, the soul-deep certainty…
Shattered.
And I screamed.
Not aloud.
Not with my voice.
But inside me, my wolf howled.
She clawed and sobbed:
"No. No. No."
But it was done.
Lucian turned his back on me like I was a burden finally shed — and walked straight into Arienne's waiting arms.
She stepped into him like she was born for it.
They didn't even wait for the dismissal.
He rejected me…
…and he didn't even flinch.
---
I dropped to my knees.
The pain wasn't physical — not entirely.
But it was everywhere.
In my breath. In my marrow. In the hollowness behind my ribs.
The bond was broken… but I still felt it.
Like a phantom limb.
Like a scream in my blood.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone scoffed:
"She was never Luna material anyway."
But I didn't hear them.
Not really.
All I could hear was the voice that ruined me:
"I sever the bond."
---
I don't remember leaving the circle.
Or how far I ran.
I just know I ran — until the tears dried.
Until the forest blurred.
Until grief settled into my bones like frost.
---
I found myself at the riverbank — the one we used to visit every summer.
It was here he kissed me once.
Here he swore, "Nothing can change what we are."
Liar.
I collapsed into the moss, too empty to cry again.
The trees swayed above me, uncaring.
I dug my fingers into the dirt, trying to ground myself to something — anything.
And then… I felt it.
Not pain.
Not grief.
Warmth.
Low in my belly. Soft. Faint.
I froze.
My hand drifted to my abdomen.
No…
It couldn't be.
I closed my eyes.
Counted the days.
The last night.
His breath on my neck. His whisper:
"I'll never let anyone take you from me."
Another lie.
But he left something behind.
I'm pregnant.
---
The realization hit harder than the rejection.
He doesn't know.
He'll never know.
Unless I tell him.
Unless I stay.
Unless…
I stare at the rising sun, and for the first time since my soul shattered—
I smile.
Not like a girl in love.
Like a mother.
Like a woman with something worth protecting.
Like someone who will rise.
Not for him…
But for the child he'll never claim.
And next time?
I won't be the one on my knees.
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